


the eye of truth

by angelusCovenant



Category: Yume Nikki | Dream Diary
Genre: And always take care of yourselves, Madotsuki is a bonafide conspiracy theorist, Mental Illness, Multi, Multi-Chapter Work, Please be warned, Suicide Attempt, first person POV, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 22:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14030064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelusCovenant/pseuds/angelusCovenant
Summary: This eye is not merely seeing reality. It is touching the truth...Gather round, all you who are willing, and let us listen to another tale.A tale of chemicals, of vomit, of Germolene, and of the difference between a glass and a plastic chandelier.A tale of Heaven, of secret societies, of lobotomies, and of the way one child dared to dream a dream.The year is 201X, and little Madotsuki's world met its end a long time ago.(This is a depiction of my own interpretation of Madotsuki as a character. I don't mean to argue with fanon or anybody else's theories; this is simply my personal opinion. Also, please be warned: this fanfiction may contain some dark and triggering content.)





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since I was a small child, I always wondered what it would feel like if I could fly. 

And I still do, actually. I need to know. I need to find out what would happen if I did. That, and I still need to somehow make arrangements to finally get away from Them.

I take a deep breath, and step out of the sliding door to my apartment for the first time in years.

The faded crimson bricks of my apartment complex appear even older in the winter night. A faint glow emanates from the rusty street-lamps. A cold breeze bites into my skin, frostiness permeating my entire being. The bronze railings of my balcony are covered in snow. I can make out the faint outline of cars down below, their headlights shining in the harsh blizzard. 

I wait.

***

Surprisingly, I feel nothing. I feel numb. I am anticipating some emotion to boil up in my chest. To burn me to a crisp in a matter of seconds. But it never comes. All that is left of me is a steely desire to accomplish my final mission, to carry out this final step in my ultimate master plan.

I climb up the miniature wooden staircase. I had set it next to the railings all those years ago. Spreading my arms out, I glance at the road beneath my feet, sprinkled with specks of neon red, green, and yellow.

It's time. 

Now, I will smash the world's shell. Break past the third dimension. See what would happen when I pulled back the curtains of reality. I will finally pass into the next life. Take a final defiant stance against the merciless cogs of fate.

I will close this world, and open the gates to the next.

I never belonged on this earth. That's what it is. A quotation from my favorite video game comes to mind. "Inside a dream, I laugh, and the world laughs with me. Inside a dream, I forget, and the world forgets with me. Inside a dream, I am the world." 

And it was the same way with me. I would rather be the master of my own fate. I would rather be the creator of my own universe. I would rather dwell in all of my beautiful dreams forever and ever, until the end of time itself. 

And now, I finally will.


	2. Chapter 2

When I come to, the first thing I see is a white flash of blinding light. My vision clears, and my surroundings gradually fade into view.

Where am I? 

I'm supposed to be dead. 

And I am... aren't I?

This place looks awfully like... a hospital.

My head feels foggy. Feels as though it were a bloated balloon. Through the fog, I become aware of people standing in a sort of semi-circle around me. They are wearing sea-green masks and rubber gloves. They discuss something in hushed tones, but my brain struggles to discern whatever it is that they are saying. Instead, my attention is drawn to a bubbling sensation slowly rising in my chest. 

I'm not... still alive, am I?

White-hot anger somehow works its way into my system, regardless of my sluggish and heavy state. That night was supposed to be my ticket into the next realm, into a higher plane of existence. My one way of at last figuring out what lies beyond this narrow and restricting dimension. My one and only chance of finally eluding Them. The ones who ruled over this aspect of reality. The ones who ran this entire senseless freak show. 

And I had been robbed of even that, as well. 

I can't help but feel a pang of self-pity. I just know I'm still stuck here. Still alive. Life went ahead and ruined even my death for me, on top of everything else --

Before I know it, my eyelids are drooping, and a drape of unadulterated blackness is once again descending upon my line of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Days fly by, and I drift in and out of consciousness. I barely remember anything that took place since I got to the ICU, but I can recollect most of the important details, at least. 

When I jumped, it had not at all been discreet. That night, we had gotten over 12 inches of snow, and much of it had accumulated as a thick coating on my apartment's back lawn. It had broken my fall. Softened the blow. Took off the rough edges on what would've otherwise been an unquestionably fatal impact. When I hit the ground, I apparently started screaming at the top of my lungs, or so I'm told. The neighbors overheard, and some of them then ran urgently outside. They had found me lying facedown, legs scratched and bloody, and they had immediately notified the police. They showed up with the paramedics just in time to take me to the emergency room. 

And thus, I had survived. I had to get a few stitches, of course, but other than that, my injuries had not been horribly grave. (Unfortunately.) The doctors say that they had been able to "rescue" me right on time. That, and I had only jumped off from the third floor of the building, which isn't even terribly high up. 

I roll my eyes. Note to self: Next time, plan your suicide attempts much more thoroughly. 

Before I know it, though, most of my fury has already ebbed away. I eventually reach a point where I accept that I am not too upset over the fact that I am still alive. It doesn't really matter. I have a backup plan, anyway. Several of them, as a matter of fact.

I will pretend to meet all their standards. Pretend to match their definition of "stable". Pretend that this was a one-time thing, that I had acted purely on impulse, that I had simply been unable to control my emotions in the heat of that one singular moment. That way, I'll be discharged relatively soon. And immediately after I get out of this place, I will undoubtedly go back home. There are plenty of routes I could then take after that.

I seem to favor the idea of overdosing on aspirin to thin my blood. I would then be sure to bleed out quickly as soon as I cut my carotid artery. There's also always the potential of dying via a good old-fashioned hanging. I have a long-strapped purse that I could very easily use. Or, I could always just jump again. It's really unlikely that I would survive a fall of that magnitude a second time.

Really, the possibilities are endless, and knowing that my death was simply postponed rather than cancelled altogether manages to give me a more-than-adequate sense of comfort. 

Speaking of which, I shift into a much more comfortable position under the soft, multi-layered covers on top of my warm bed. I've now decided: I'm going to make the most out of my stay here in the hospital. Sure, it's going to be a long couple of weeks in here. But after that, it's all going to be alright. Everything will be a-okay. This is all going to be over before I know it.

Oh! That's right. While I'm still here, I should probably take a shot at introducing myself to you, my dear Dream Diary. My name is Madotsuki. That isn't what it says on my birth certificate, but the standards to which this world abides are far from congruent with my own personal, perfect, and spotless reality. I'm not ever going to tell you what my birth name is, of course... and I really hope you don't mind. I despised it from the very minute I could first think for myself. 

"Madotsuki" has always been a much more suitable name for me. I have thought that ever since the moment I discovered the term and its definition. It means "window". 

Eyes. I have always had a bit of an obsession with eyes. They've enthralled me for just about the longest time. Everything about them is just so... fascinating. Just... the way they work. Their brilliance. The sheer sense of awareness, of clarity, and of enlightenment that they evoke... The way they stand for awakeness. For consciousness. For understanding. For knowing... 

The way they appear to stare, far beyond everything that they can see... 

The way they look like they are so close to touching... the truth...

Eyes. It has always been said that the eyes are the "windows" to the soul. And eyes resonated so deeply with me, so I had thought... why not? 

A door opens, and I am suddenly wrenched away from my train of thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Startled, I immediately set my magenta crayon and paper down on my bedside table. No offense or anything, but I really, really don't know how to tolerate interruptions. They often make my brain glitch out an awful lot.

I don't want to be rude, though, so, as best as I can with an IV in my arm, I wave at the tall blonde lady who comes into my room. 

"Hi, good afternoon! I'm your social worker. I take it you're... ?" The lady asks, looking up from a clipboard and reading my birth name aloud. I nod begrudgingly, although I try my best not to show my displeasure. I fake a smile. She smiles back. 

"I heard you jumped off a balcony? Do you want to talk about why you did it, honey?"

My throat feels dry. I don't know what to say. She needs a good answer, and I didn't even have a chance to rehearse this beforehand... I haven't spoken to any strangers in what feels like forever, and before my admission to the hospital, I thought I never would have to ever again...

I gulp. I need to look intelligent. I just need to. But I probably won't. So if I can't appear smart to another person, I'll at least try my best to look sweet.

"Oh... It was just... A one-time thing... I was just kinda... feeling overwhelmed for a bit... didn't know what I was doing... so, yeah..." I attempt another half-hearted, sheepish, plastic grin.

"Feeling overwhelmed? Well, we don't want that, now, do we?"

"Uh... No... We don't," I manage. This feels unreal. The thought that I am speaking to some stranger strikes bolts of perturbation into my heart, causes the room to swim in circles around me. I am torn between feeling enraged at the situation and feeling like I just want to freaking stab myself in the gut. My thoughts race and trip over each other, one on top of the other. I wish that all my molecules would just freaking disintegrate in a matter of seconds, so that I wouldn't freaking have to deal with things like this ever again. 

"Of course not," she continues. "Your doctors and I have been talking, and it's been decided. Your physical injuries are healing, so we're going to have you transferred to a psychiatric facility for a bit, okay, sweetie? Don't worry, it isn't bad. Just think of it like summer camp. I've seen people commit themselves to the ER just so they can get a spot on the unit." 

I nod, signaling at her to go on. She reaches into a folder and takes out a sheet of paper.

"I'm just gonna have you sign this, okay? This is called a 405 form. It tells us that you voluntarily agreed to your confinement, and that you're actively accepting that you need help. You're over 14 now, so you can sign yourself in. Here, right on this line." She hands me the paper, her clipboard, and her pen.

A psych ward. Oh, boy, isn't that just great. Yeah, that's exactly what I needed... 

Through the years, I had always refused any and all psychiatric "help", despite others' constant pleading and exhorting for me to do so. I never wanted to. Psychiatry is pure evil. It clouds the minds of those who possess the eyes of truth. The only thing that workers associated with that field would ever do would be to trade all authenticity for functionality. I would rather die as myself this very moment rather than continue to live on as somebody else -- as a pawn, a fake, or a vegetable. As the New Hampshire state motto puts it, "Live free or die."

This time around, though, I don't have a choice. The sooner I want to get out of here, the sooner I need to show the staff that I was willing to cooperate with whatever it is that they recommend. 

Also, I'd like to avoid any conflict with this stranger as much as possible. And I don't want the staff to commit me involuntarily, which would probably show up on my record, which would in turn draw more of Their attention to me...

So I do it. "Alright," I say with the best blank expression I can pull off in the moment. I sign the paper.

"Great! It'll be about 2 days before a spot clears up, though, so hang tight here for now, okay, honey?" 

I nod again. "Sure thing."

"Do you have any questions for me?" she asks. I shake my head no. She seems nice enough, I suppose, but I don't exactly feel like talking right now, and I just want to get this done and over with.

"Ask your nurse to page me if you need anything, alright?" I nod. 

"Okay," she waves. "I'll be around if you want me." She steps out the door, and it closes shut behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

Pardon the intrusion, my dear Dream Diary. Although I'm not especially happy about confinement in a psych ward, it is still my intention to stick to my aforementioned plan. It's really very simple. Follow through with all of the hospital's procedures, go through the motions, and be as agreeable as possible while doing so. Hopefully, the staff is going to let me out of here in no time. Everything's going to be right as rain when they do. 

Now, where were we? I believe we left off at a place where I was introducing myself to you. Yes, that's right -- I'm Madotsuki. I may be in a hospital right now, but the truth is that... I really don't believe I'm mentally ill at all.

Why did I jump, then, you ask? Whatever happened that led up to everything that's currently going on? We have plenty of time to talk about that later. But for now, let me just get something off my chest.

I know that it's an extremely hackneyed sentiment, but ever since I was younger, I would always feel like I wanted to be different. And I would always feel like... I actually already was.

I'm not mentally ill, no matter what anybody might tell you. No. I'm cursed. That isn't my fault, though. It's Theirs.

All of this is occuring because I just so happen to be descended from Them. In fact, my great-grandfather had even been the Master of his Lodge. That's right. I'm the recipient of a generations-old bloodline curse, all because my ancestors thought it'd be a brilliant idea to summon demons, practice witchcraft, marry their cousins, and try to take over the world. 

Don't believe me? My great-aunt... She used to be able to see ghosts. She herself attempted suicide several times in the past, and ended up in a psych ward more than once. Whenever I talk to her, I get this strange feeling... like we're connected somehow. She was always the one who understood me. Who could see things in infinite hues of color. Who innately knew that there had to be more to life than just... this. And whenever I would tell her about the strange symptoms I would experience, she was the only person in the whole wide world who would just... get it. She got everything so quickly -- in the snap of a finger. She's different, too, and I know it.

Still don't believe me? Maybe you will after this. I'll have you know that for the past hundred or so years, at least one person in every generation of my family ended up in a mental hospital. My great-aunt... my uncle... my actual aunt... and then me. If that isn't evidence of something a bit weird going on, then I don't know what is.

I guess my problem is that... I never could quite understand the way society worked. That, and I always just feel so, so sick. 

***

It is as though everything is an unreal blur. Life is nothing but a hazy fever dream. The room is spinning. Reality is but a series of surreal colors and noises which flash before my eyes and leave a ringing in my ears. I check off the list of things that I experience. Splitting headaches. Dizziness. Lightheadedness. Nausea. Restlessness. Energy spikes. Cold sweats. A floating sensation. 

I want to tear off my skin and break out of it. Break free. Run. Fly somewhere, far, far away. I long to shatter something. Long to feel powerful. There is a tightness in my chest, and my heart feels as though it is beating no slower than the speed of light. My blood is as cold as ice. I am sick to my stomach. Pins and needles prick my limbs, which are then grabbed and destroyed by the shadows. My limbs then turn to gelatin. 

I am traversing a minefield. I am wading through quicksand. I am skating atop thin ice. The ground is falling through. The sky is crashing down. The walls are closing in. I walk through the walls. I am here, yet not here. I am absent. Zero. Blank.

"This is the “me” which is visible, the shape which forms me, and yet it feels as though this is not me..."

***

The entire continuous ordeal feels like being stabbed with a metaphorical knife. Everything I just described fluctuates in intensity, but the underlying emotion beneath it all never genuinely goes away.

That's all Their fault, too. Not only because They were responsible for passing down a hex, but also because it was Their hand that molded reality through the years, eventually shattering it into becoming what it is today. They're the ones behind it all -- the radiation, the poisoned food, the fluoridated water, the contaminated air. The hordes of spirits that exist outside the laws of physics being sent out to perpetually stalk and harass everyone, particularly individuals who come close to reaching the Truth. 

And another thing... As I said, I never quite feel real. It's like... I'm never there. I'm never present. I'm looking at you, but I'm not looking at you. I'm holding this crayon, but I'm not holding this crayon. I'm slicing my skin with a knife, but I'm not slicing my skin with a knife.

I'm here... but I'm not here.


End file.
